


Never Moon A Werewolf

by stevergrsno (noxlunate)



Series: Happy Steve Bingo Fills [10]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, Happy Steve Bingo, Healer Steve Rogers, Healers, M/M, Magical Realism, Minor Violence, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Werewolf Bucky Barnes, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-28 00:22:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16230332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noxlunate/pseuds/stevergrsno
Summary: “You’re gonna be fine.” Steve says, squirming until he can squeeze all six feet of himself into the bed next to Bucky.“Yeah, sure.” Bucky agrees, but it’s hollow and barely there.“You are. So you’re a werewolf, big whoop. You’re already terrifying in the mornings, what else is new?”It pulls a chuckle out of Bucky, rough and a little lackluster, but Steve’ll take it.Aka Steve Rogers was born with the gift of healing, Bucky Barnes was given the gift of a stubborn ass boyfriend and an unfortunate incident with a werewolf fighting ring that left him with a pesky case of lycanthropy.





	Never Moon A Werewolf

**Author's Note:**

> Here's my fill for the bingo square Healing Touch! I'm not sure how the prompt led me to werewolves, but lo, here we are. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it!

The scrying spell had led Steve here, to this large brick building at the end of a deserted street, the few cars there left on the side of the road with broken windows. 

It’s a little ominous to say the least, and if Steve were watching himself in one of those dumb horror movies Bucky likes he’d be telling himself to run fast and far because there is nothing even remotely good about this situation. 

He, as a viewer, would be completely correct. There is absolutely  _ nothing _ good about this situation.

Bucky had turned up missing. There was no note, no message left to explain, and when Steve called his phone repeatedly -as he’d been doing for the past day- it went straight to voicemail. The cops insisted there was a certain time he had to wait before reporting him missing, but Steve knew there was something  _ off.  _

A lifelong friendship and years spent in a relationship didn’t just end with Bucky disappearing without a trace. 

So he’d scrounged up what he needed for a scrying spell and gone off on his own, like a dumbass, without even calling Sam or Nat for help. Even  _ Scott  _ might be a better option than going into this by himself. 

It’s too late now though, and so Steve stalks into the building, very carefully ignoring the full moon that shines bright overhead and the sinking feeling in his gut. 

 

The inside of the building is chaos. 

Steve’s seen a lot of things in his life. The world is vast, and there’s a lot of magic in it that even Steve’s not aware of, even with the standard Magic And You; Exploring The Races Of Magical Folk In a Magical World classes they give in high school. He likes to think he’s experienced a lot of it, and has a decent gauge on what’s normal. 

This is not, in any way shape or form,  _ normal _ . At least not outside of one of Steve’s guilty pleasure crime shows. 

The warehouse, because that’s what it is, a large, empty warehouse, is filled to the brim. Fae with wings so dark they’re almost black are clustered among humans in too much leather, with brass knuckles and guns on their hips. Women, fantastically beautiful with pelts draped around their shoulders are hollering and exchanging money with a group of sharp toothed kelpies. Steve thinks he even sees an ent amongst all the chaos. 

And in the middle of it all there’s werewolves, snarling and bloody. And in the middle of  _ that,  _ there’s a man, holding a knife and doing what seems to be a passable job at defending himself against the onslaught of teeth and claws. 

Fucking  _ full moons.  _ Fucking  _ full moon fighting rings.  _ Steve’s pretty sure he and Bucky have watched a documentary on this shit. 

Steve’s also pretty sure he never expected to find Bucky thrown into the middle of one. 

 

Everything moves faster than Steve’s prepared for after he realizes what’s going on. 

There’s the shrieking sound of metal as a beam comes crashing down from the ceiling, taking bits and pieces of the roof with it. Sparks fly, something catches fire and people are scattering, wolves howling as they snap at those close enough. Steve nearly gets brained by a stray fairy’s wing. 

Steve ignores all of it, plunging past the chaos and towards Bucky, who has crumpled forward the moment attention was off of him. 

“Fuck,  _ Bucky.”  _ Steve’s already looping an arm around Bucky, careful of what he tries to convince himself aren’t bite wounds. God, they’re  _ definitely  _ bite wounds. “Let’s get you the hell out of here, jesus christ.” 

“Stevie?” Bucky slurs, leaning his weight against Steve and not doing much in the way of helping as Steve gets them the hell out of there. Luckily, everyone else seems to be attempting to get the hell out of dodge as well, and no one even seems to think of stopping them. “You do all this?” His words are paired with a flop of a hand that Steve assumes is meant to encompass the building and it’s quickly deteriorating state. 

“Maybe. Wasn’t really trying for anything specific, just needed you out.” Steve admits, his magic already seeping into Bucky where his skin makes contact, finding the points of damage and- Steve cuts it off. He can’t do anything yet, not while they’re there. Bucky’s left side is a mess, and that kind of damage will take energy Steve can’t spare until they’re out of there. 

 

Of course, when they get out of the building there’s  _ cops.  _

“You couldn’t have come  _ before  _ he was forced into a rink to fight fucking werewolves in some sort of illegal fucking fight club  _ bullshit _ ?” Steve asks the officer taking Bucky’s statement while EMTs get Bucky loaded into the back of an ambulance. It is safe to say that Steve is  _ livid.  _ Steve is more than livid. Steve is  _ worried  _ and  _ pissed  _ and a whole combination of negative emotions that are only slightly offset by his relief that Bucky isn't dead in a ditch somewhere. 

“We work as quickly as possible Mr. Rogers.” The officer, who has the distinct burnt charcoal smell of a dragon, flips a notebook closed and tucks it away into a pocket. “We’ll be contacting Mr. Barnes later for a full statement.” 

Steve does not roll his eyes at an  _ officer of the law,  _ but he comes very close. God, dragons are always such  _ assholes.  _

He doesn’t ask before he climbs into the ambulance alongside Bucky, and the EMTs don’t make any move to protest. 

 

Steve lasts all of a minute into the drive to the hospital before he’s getting his hands on Bucky, letting his magic slide under Bucky’s skin and  _ pulling.  _

Bucky wastes no time in protesting this action.

“Fuckin a, Steve,  _ stop.”  _

Steve jerks his hands away the moment the ‘ _ stop’  _ comes out, sharp and insistent. It goes against his every instinct, but instinct or not it’s a real shit thing to do to use magic on someone who doesn’t want it. 

“I didn’t finish.” Because Bucky is still bleeding, and Steve’s magic hadn’t had time to even  _ start  _ to knit the flesh back together. He’d done just enough that he can feel the ache, the throbbing through his shoulder and arm, across his chest, in his ribs. 

“Good. This hurts like a fucking bitch and I don’t want you havin’ any part of it.” 

 

The doctors do a decent job of fixing Bucky up. It’s nothing like what Steve could do, but Bucky’s no longer bleeding and everything’s covered by white, sterile bandages and Bucky seems to be a whole lot more comfortable now that they’ve pumped him full of something bright and orange and steaming that the nurse has assured them is for pain.  

He still looks pale and drawn when he asks the doctor, “So, uh, the bites, they’re probably, well they’re gonna-” 

“Yes, Mr Barnes,” The doctor cuts him off, clearly seeing where Bucky is going with this and Bucky looks relieved to avoid explaining what he means, sagging a little into Steve where he’s sitting perched on the side of the bed. “The bites were deep, so honestly, there’s no way you weren’t in contact with the saliva. The chances that you won’t turn from the encounter are incredibly slim. I’d even venture to guess they’re nonexistent.” 

She looks sympathetic as she lays a hand on Bucky’s good arm and gives it a gentle squeeze. 

“The hospital will, of course, provide you with plenty of resources for getting settled when you’re discharged.” She says, and then she’s gone, off to treat her other patients like she hasn’t just cemented a massive change in Bucky and Steve’s world. 

“You’re gonna be fine.” Steve says, squirming until he can squeeze all six feet of himself into the bed next to Bucky. 

“Yeah, sure.” Bucky agrees, but it’s hollow and barely there. 

“You are. So you’re a werewolf, big whoop. You’re already terrifying in the mornings, what else is new?” 

It pulls a chuckle out of Bucky, rough and a little lackluster, but Steve’ll take it. 

 

“You’re going away for the full moon.” Bucky says, a week after the warehouse. 

“Like hell I am.” Steve says, fully prepared to plant himself in their apartment and refuse to leave for the next three weeks if he has to. “Don’t be an idiot, of course I’m staying here. With you.” 

“Yeah, like that’s fucking safe.” As fully prepared as Steve is, Bucky looks equally prepared to throw all 180 pounds of Steve over his shoulder and cart him off to somewhere he deems safe. 

“It’s safer than leaving your ass alone to brood all night and get dog hair all over the couch.” Steve says, which earns him a flat look, Bucky’s lips pressed together in a tight line and his eyebrows doing that thing where Steve can feel them judging him a little. 

“Jesus christ Steve, this isn’t a fucking joke.” Yep, those are definitely The Eyebrows of Judgement. Steve has been seeing them since the tender age of eight and he’s pretty sure he’ll see them until his dying day. 

“Yeah, I’m pretty aware of that. I’m still not going anywhere.” 

“Fine, then find a way to make it safe and you can stay.” Bucky says, like he expects Steve to be unable to. Which is kind of the worst thing he could possibly do in this situation, he should  _ know that _ . 

“Fine, I will.” Steve says, and he’s doing what Bucky fondly- and occasionally not at all fondly- refers to as The Chin, but he can’t help it. Bucky has set a challenge and like hell is Steve not going to rise to meet it. 

“Fine.” 

“ _ Fine.”  _ Steve throws his hands up and sulking off to his studio. 

 

Ten minutes later the fight is semi resolved by Bucky shoving his head in and saying “Pizza for dinner?” 

“Meat lovers?” 

“Would I ever try to feed you anything else?” 

“Yeah, you keep trying to get me to eat pineapple on it.” 

“That’s because you’re missing out on a culinary experience Steven.” 

 

Steve figures out a way, because of course he does, and a few days later he dumps a pile of herbs onto the counter at his favorite market and gives his best smile to the old crone at the register. 

“I’ll need two ounces of monkswood as well.” He says like he’s not asking for anything out of the usual, like he is in fact just doing his normal once monthly stock up of herbs. 

“What’s a nice boy like you wanting with wolfsbane?” The crone, Maggie asks, almost abnormally large eyes staring at him from beneath her glasses. 

“I’m poisoning my enemies, of course.” Steve says, the joke enough that Maggie laughs and waves a hand, a jar flinging itself from the the shelves behind her and landing neatly in front of them. 

“It’ll cost you a pretty penny.” She warns, tapping out what Steve assumes to be two ounces of the purple flowers into a small jar. She never weighs anything, but Steve’s been frequenting Old Maggie’s shop for at least ten years and never received anything less than what he pays for. 

“Your knees again?” Steve asks with a grin, fully willing to pay whatever it is Maggie wants in exchange this month. He’d figure out a way to catch her the moon itself if it meant getting whatever he needs to help Bucky. 

“My granddaughter.” Maggie says with a shake of her head, “She broke her arm and normally her mother would insist she let it heal in it’s own time, but, well, there’s a softball tournament and she’s supposed to be pitching. And I’m an old woman who would like to see my grandchildren succeed before I’m released from this mortal coil.” 

Steve occasionally suspects that Old Maggie has no mortal coil to speak of, but he’ll indulge the woman as much as she’d like. Besides, Maggie’s granddaughter is a hell of a kid. 

“Of course. I can stop by this afternoon and fix her up?” 

“Oh, no need.” Maggie says and then whirls around and shouts into the back of the shop, “Mary, darling, he said yes!” 

Mary, seventeen if Steve remembers right and somehow still getting taller like a weed comes barreling through the beads leading into the back of the shop. She waves with her cast and gives Steve a brilliant smile, all dimples and bright brown eyes. 

“You said yes? I told her you’d say yes. I bet you’d have said yes even if you weren’t trying to buy poison.”

“I’m not trying to buy  _ poison.”  _ Steve insists, “Now c’mon, hop up and let me look at your arm.” 

Mary hops onto the counter in front of Steve and holds her arm out in front of him expectantly. Steve gives it a blank look and then raps at the hard plaster with his knuckles. 

“Wanna take care of that for me? I need to see what I’m working with.” 

Mary’s shaping up to be a witch as skilled as her mother and grandmother, and she raps her knuckles against the plaster in the same manner Steve had. Unlike when Steve did it, this time the plaster falls away in long ribbons that land in a pile at Steve’s feet. 

“Good?” She asks, clearly angling for a compliment that Steve is only too happy to give. 

“Pretty damn good, yeah. If I was even half as good a witch as you I’d have done better in school and wouldn’t be a starving artist these days.” Steve says, light and easy as he runs his hands over Mary’s arms, letting his magic focus in on the bones and the damage there. 

He’s got witch’s magic, same as any healer, but he’s never been the best at it. Most healers are better at healing than they ever were at practical magic, so it’s not like Steve’s an oddity when it comes to that. 

“You’re a healer, you could be famous.” Mary points out. 

“And miss out on this? No thanks.” Steve waves the idea away as easily as he ever does, frowning as the breaks in Mary’s arm become apparent. “You did a number on this.” 

“I fell.” She says, and then at Steve’s disbelieving look she tacks on “From a tree. I fell from a tree.” 

Steve shakes his head in disbelief and lets his magic loose, his fingertips resting over the biggest break. The pain flows through him, settling into his own arm while his gift wraps itself around the breaks in Mary’s arm. There’s a tugging, a certain burning as it knits the bone back together and Steve leans into the feeling, lets it reassure him that his magic is doing exactly what it’s supposed to. 

Mary lets out a noise at the odd sensation of it while Steve stays quiet, focused on a nice clean heal with no damage leftover. Mary’s seventeen, she doesn’t need to have even an ache on a cold day when this is all over. 

When it’s done, when Steve lets his magic trail over her arm again and gets the impression of whole, strong bone, he drops his hands and steps back, the ache in his own arm fierce but already fading into a dull roar. 

“Alright, it’s good as new. The good news is you’ll be able to play in your tournament, the bad news is you should avoid climbing in high trees for awhile.” 

“Thanks Steve!” Mary wraps Steve in a tight hug before she’s disappearing into the back room once more, already tapping away on her phone now that she has both hands to use. 

Maggie ushers him out of the shop with a kiss to his cheek and a vial of something she says will ease the ache in his bones as payment. 

Steve swallows the vial while sat next to a pixie on the subway and lets the warmth of the pain tonic when combined with the pride of a job well done settle through him. 

 

(The thing about healers is this; they’re incredibly fucking rare. There’s plenty of practitioners of magic in the world, and plenty that claim they can heal people but it’s all potions to speed healing, knowledge of how to set bones and treat fevers, combinations of herbs to bring relief from aches and pains. It’s nothing like Steve or anyone else with the touch for healing can do. 

And people like Steve? Born with magic. Born not just with magic but with a magic that can sink into others and heal almost anything that ails them? Well they only come around once in a blue moon.)

 

When Steve bursts into his and Bucky’s apartment he swings the bag around in front of the other man with a triumphant grin until Bucky takes notice. 

“You got it?” Bucky asks, eyeing the bag skeptically as Steve pulls it back into himself and safely away from Bucky. 

“I got it.” 

“You think it’ll work?” 

“I don’t know, I’ve never had my boyfriend turned into a werewolf and demanding I make a potion of protection against him before. This is kind of new territory for me.” Steve says as he drops the bag on the coffee table and flops into the spot on the couch next to Bucky. 

“You should start on it now that you have the supplies.” Bucky says, staying firmly on his side of the couch, every inch of him radiating that same sort of terrified caged wolf energy he’s had since the warehouse.

Steve gets it, or at least he’s trying to get it, but he can’t help but hope a full moon passing without any incident will help.  

“The full moon’s not for a few days and the potion takes all of an hour to make, I think I’ve got time.” Steve says, ignoring Bucky’s practically vibrating energy and shifting his bulk into Bucky’s space. He prods at the other man until he’s got Bucky’s arm draped around him and Steve practically counts the seconds until the tension starts to ease,. 

Eventually it does, Bucky’s arm giving a squeeze around Steve as he presses his nose into Steve’s hair and breathes. 

 

(The thing about werewolves is this; they’re not even close to as rare as healers. Hell, they’re not even all that rare  _ at all.  _ More common than vampires, but less so than witches, they’re practically a dime a dozen. 

Their commonality doesn’t stop people from being terrified of them. Their commonality doesn’t stop Bucky, freshly turned and facing his first ever full moon as a werewolf, from being terrified of himself.) 

 

Steve would have thought that a potion that takes all of an hour to make would be a lot easier than it is. 

Steve turns out to be incredibly, horribly wrong. It turns out that a potion with several dozen steps all crammed into 67 minutes exactly of brew time is a complicated endeavor. Everything has to be precise- precisely cut, precisely timed, precisely stirred. 

Steve fucking  _ hates _ making potions. 

He manages what he hopes is a half decent attempt, and at the end he’s left with a tiny vial full of nearly radioactive looking purple potion. 

He loops a leather cord around the neck of the vial and drops it around his neck, letting it settle over top his t-shirt where it emits a strange glow. 

Steve’s not sure he’ll ever stop thinking potions are weird as hell.  

“Did it work?” Bucky asks when he spots it. 

“I don’t know, try to come close and see.” If Steve sounds reluctant it’s because he  _ is.  _ He’s made the potion for Bucky’s benefit, but he still thinks everything would work out just fine if the other man just went through the full moon like normal with Steve there sans any protective jewelry. Plenty of werewolves go through their full moons without hurting anyone. 

Bucky nods, clearly ignoring Steve’s reluctance as he moves forward a few steps. He stops a good three feet away and steps back neatly, turning to flop on the couch. 

“It works.” Bucky says, and then before Steve can say anything he adds, “It’s not painful or anything. It’s just this feeling that I can’t go any further and maybe I should go somewhere else? Real subtle. It’s good. You did good Steve.”

“It’s almost like I’d make a good witch.” Steve jokes, pulling the makeshift necklace off and dropping it into a silver lined pouch to neutralize it before flopping down on top of Bucky. 

Bucky grunts and makes a half hearted attempt to shove Steve off before seeming to give in and wrapping his arms around Steve’s waist. 

“You’re a great witch Rogers.” He mutters, his nose pressing almost uncomfortably hard into Steve’s shoulder. 

 

Steve had expected the full moon to be terrifying, sure, but for  _ Bucky.  _ What he’d somehow forgotten to consider was that he’d be sitting in their living room with a potion around his neck, watching his boyfriend’s bones shift under his skin and fur sprout from his skin as his entire body shifted into something new. 

As  _ screams  _ turned into howls and Steve sat there, entirely helpless. 

His hands clench around the vial around his neck, every muscle in his body aching to leap from the couch and cross the distance between him and Bucky, his arms aching to pull him in and hold him tight. 

He stays where he is, perfectly still as Bucky pushes himself up with large grey paws and slowly pads closer. He stops at the edge of where the potion allows, sits back on his haunches and lets out a low whine, his ears perked up and his eyes- his eyes are so very  _ Bucky _ that Steve can’t stay like this any longer. 

“Come  _ here.”  _ Steve says, throwing the necklace with it’s vial of potion away from him and holding his hands out to Bucky. 

Bucky pads forward on soft paws until Steve can finally sink his fingers into Bucky’s fur. He lets Bucky’s pain wash over him and then  _ tugs,  _ pulling all the aches and pains from his transformation into himself and then letting it fade into something small and barely there. 

Bucky whines again, clearly disapproving of Steve taking in his pain. 

“Deal with it.” Steve says, curling his arms around Bucky’s neck and pressing his face into the soft fur there, his fingers scritching absently where his hands rest against Bucky’s back. 

“Any desire to eat me alive, or like maim me irreparably?” 

Bucky growls a response to that and Steve grins, feeling far too smug. 

“Uh-huh, that’s what I thought. You’re as safe as an overgrown puppy.” 

Bucky, even when he’s in the shape of a fucking huge ass werewolf manages to be entirely readable based solely on his expressions, and right now his expression is very insulting. 

“Don’t be an asshole, or I won’t give you any kibble.” 

The insulting expression grows in intensity. 

“Come lay with me on the couch, we can watch dog cops.” Steve says, unable to help getting just one more horrible dog joke in. 

Bucky clearly doesn’t mind  _ that  _ much because he climbs onto the couch with Steve and proceeds to shove Steve down with his massive paws then drape himself firmly on top of him. 

“Great, great, a werewolf blanket, it’s all I’ve ever dreamed of.” Steve says and gets a huff as an answer, followed by a lick right across his face. 

He falls asleep just like that, Bucky sprawled on top of him and getting fur in Steve’s mouth while Steve forces Bucky to watch an All Dogs Go To Heaven marathon. 

 

When he wakes up Bucky’s human again, his face pressed into Steve’s chest and leaving a patch of drool on Steve’s shirt. 

Steve drops a kiss to the top of his head and runs a hand over the bare curve of his back, drawing out any leftover pain and healing any damage left over, feeling it like an ache in his bones. 

It’s enough to wake Bucky up, and Steve can’t help but smile at the sight of him and his bedhead, glaring at Steve. 

“See, that wasn’t so bad.” Steve says before Bucky can get a word out about Steve healing him. 

Steve doesn’t apologize for using his gifts and Bucky doesn’t apologize for getting pissy about Steve using his gifts. It’s a nice balance they’ve fallen into since childhood. 

“Nah, not really. Hurt like a bitch, but I was still  _ me.”  _

“I told you you would be. The people that say you lose yourself with the transformation are the ones that want an excuse to hurt people.” 

“I know. Guess I had to see for myself though, y’know?” 

Steve can heal a lot of things, but he can’t heal the mind, can’t heal the fear Bucky’s had about this for the past month, can’t heal the trauma from being taken and turned in the first place. Sometimes the only thing that can fix any of it is time and experience. 

“I know. You thinkin you might want to put some clothes on?” Steve says, grinning a little and pinching at Bucky’s ribs instead. 

“I don’t know, I’m naked and on top of you, you’re still all sleepy and warm. Thinking there might be better things to do than getting dressed.” Bucky says, leaning back to drag his gaze up and down in an exaggerated leer. 

Steve shoves Bucky off of him where he lands in a naked heap of limbs on their floor, grinning up at Steve. “Go get dressed Barnes, and I’ll make you pancakes.” 

“I think I’ve experienced enough torture in my life, I don’t need to add your cooking to the list.” Bucky says, reaching up to squeeze Steve’s ankle and ignoring Steve’s raised middle finger. 

 

They end up at their favorite breakfast joint. The one where the waitresses know their names and Steve has a  _ ‘usual’  _ and Bucky’s coffee cup never gets below half full. 

Steve shoves into the spot next to Bucky like he always does, and Bucky bitches about how there’s two sides to a table for a reason and he’s going to smack into Steve with his elbow the entire time just like he always does but when Steve makes like he’s going to get up he tugs Steve back down in the way he always does. 

It feels just like it does any other time they end up here, following a long night and a morning that involves Bucky wanting a real breakfast but not wanting to cook it and Steve offering and being told that for his and the rest of the building’s safety they’re going out. 

Steve, as he watches Bucky practically sink face first into his coffee, his presence a line of warmth against Steve’s side, can’t help but feel anything other than relief. 

The damage from the attack will take more than Steve’s magic to heal, but for now Bucky is bright and alive and happy to have gotten through the night, and Steve can’t ask for much more than that. 

 

When Steve goes back to Old Maggie’s the next month for his usual restock she asks “How did your boy do with the change last month?” and leaves Steve gaping. 

“I didn’t- How did you know?” 

“These old eyes see a lot.” Maggie says, leaning across the counter and plucking a long strand of brown hair off of Steve’s shirt. “There, that should be payment enough. Now, tell me how that wolf of yours did last month.” 

“Don’t use that for anything nefarious.” Steve says with a pointed finger wave, “He did good. Really good. The only downside I’m seeing so far is the amount of dog hair.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Come yell about things with me on [tumblr!](http://stevergrsno.tumblr.com/tagged/my-writing)


End file.
